The Gilded Cage
by Carpetbag
Summary: Two years after the events of Batman Begins Dr. Crane has returned as director of the asylum, and there's nothing he won't do to get revenge on the man who ruined his reputation and his life. The only thing standing between him and his goals is a family..
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A/N: This fic occurs about two years after Batman Begins and is based on the premise that Crane was never revealed as the Scarecrow. The police presence in the narrows was literally non-existent again as soon as everyone was rounded up into Arkham, and the antidote was distributed to as many people as possible. The social and economic gap between the narrows and Gotham's mainland is even wider now, and there isn't a lot of traffic between the two city sections.

Dr Crane returned to his post at the asylum despite rumours that he was behind the gassing, and he's been going strong ever since. Despite the fact that he was never formally charged, there was a lot of suspicion, and he was forced to lay low. Now, two years later, he needs something to bring up his reputation so he can continue living in the style he became accustomed to while working with Falcone.

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Ann stood in the doorway of the bar for a moment, looking left and right. When she determined the coast was clear, she stepped down onto the street and began her short walk home. Her short skirt came to just below her jacket and it made her feel vulnerable, but she had no money to do the laundry and the water hadn't worked in her apartment for almost two weeks. She had to conserve her clothing, and as such wore her work uniform to and from work. Though 'uniform' was only a loose term for the tight fitting skirt and halter ensemble.

She worked in one of the less seedy bars in the narrows, although what could be called 'less seedy' in the narrows would probably be seen as a total dive by the rest of Gotham. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do about her situation. Her parents had been killed during the gassing two years ago and her brothers, like so many others who hadn't gotten the vaccine in time, had gone mad. She used to go see them in Arkham, but after the first few visits she had been too afraid to go back. Chris and Derek barely knew who she was anymore, anyway.

So every night she trudged to Flea Whiskey's and worked as a waitress and occasional dancer, and every morning she trudged home. She was never attacked or maligned by the bar's patrons, and she counted herself lucky for it. Some of the other girls had taken up carrying pepper spray and tasers in their purses for their way home, and other girls had ended up letting the men have their way but charging them for it. Ann hoped she was never so desperate that she would have to sell herself to live.

But such was life in the narrows. There wasn't much anyone could do about it. The police had patrolled the neighbourhood for about six months after the attack on the city, but their presence had slowly begun to peter off. Ann knew she'd be lucky if she saw two squad cars per month. The reality was that everyone thought of the narrows as irredeemable, and Ann was inclined to agree with them. She wasn't cynical, she just knew that no matter how much work she put into her neighbourhood it would still be the narrows, and people would still be desperate.

She worked as director of the only youth club in the narrows. Her home base was in an abandoned warehouse close to the rest of the city, and kids came every day before, during and after school to hang out and stay out of trouble. Of course they didn't think of it as staying out of trouble, they thought of it as having fun and making friends, and Ann tried to instil a positive attitude in each of them. She knew how important it was to have people who support you and help you make the right decisions.

She worked the afternoon shift, from noon until eight, after which she headed home to change and then to work. Even though all the kids knew what she did for a living, that didn't stop them from liking and respecting her. She had laid down the law in the first week, and from then on the kids had been fairly respectful.

Now all she could think about was the six flights of stairs she would have to climb before she reached her apartment, and she could tell the sun was about to come up. She hated going to bed after the sunrise, but that night had been rough. One of the regulars had been harassing one of the dancers, and Ann and long been designated unofficial mediator. She had spent half an hour convincing the man that she should call him a cab, and then he had asked her to wait until it got there. Cabs were a rare and sometimes risky pleasure in the narrows.

She reached her building and pulled out her keys, only to hear the ominous click of a gun being cocked. "Give us your wallet and your jewellery." A young voice demanded.

Ann turned around and saw two young boys, both only about sixteen, standing in the spotlight of the streetlight.

"Hey!" She snapped. "Does it look like I have any money? And what have I told you about walking around at night. It's dangerous for you kids!" She crossed her arms and began tapping her toe. The boys frowned and stepped closer.

"Ann?" The first boy turned to the second. "It's Ann!"

"Aw shit." The second one said, then retracted it. "I mean, ah, darn it. Sorry Ann. We wouldn't have tried anything if we knew it was you."

"Oh yeah, no way!" The first boy said genuinely.

Ann looked at them for a moment then yawned. "Look, I'm too tired to argue with you right now, but tomorrow we're going to have a talk about this."

The two boys looked ashamed, staring at the ground and scuffing it with the toes of their shoes. "We had to! Mickey's dad is getting worse! He's not giving Mickey any money for food or anything!" The other boy, Mickey, quickly elbowed his friend.

"Shut up!"

"Is that true Mickey?" Ann asked, frowning.

He shifted, looking away and then looking back at her. His eyes were shiny and bright, and she sighed. "Put that away, Damien." She said, nodding at the gun.

Damien looked down at the hand that was still pointing the cocked pistol at his mentor. "Sorry." He said sheepishly and returned the safety before tucking it into the back of his pants.

Ann looked at the two boys for a moment, the turned back to her apartment door. The door opened not without a little effort, and the hinges squealed as she pushed it open. She stepped inside and turned, looking at the boys. "Well? I can't let you boys roam the streets all night, can I?" They looked at each other and quickly skipped up the steps.

The climb to her apartment seemed longer with two teenage boys at her back. She wasn't worried about what they would think of her place, most of the homes in the narrows were pretty equally matched. She just wondered what she was planning on doing with them once they got inside.

She didn't have much to offer them to eat, maybe some spaghetti or canned beans. She didn't know; she rarely ate at home. She tended to eat at work most nights; she could eat before work, and sometimes afterward, depending on what time they got everyone out. Often, one of the regulars would buy her a meal, but they knew not to expect anything in return besides a friend. She knew better than most what good someone to lean on could do.

Ann came to a stop in front of apartment 602.

The door was ajar. "Oh shit." She whispered.

"What is it?" Mickey asked from behind her.

"Damien, is your gun loaded?" She asked quietly.

"…No." He answered suspiciously.

"Give it to me." He looked at her in confusion before handing it to her. "Stay out here." She ordered. They protested but she quickly shushed them and gingerly stepped into her apartment. She clicked on a lamp next to the door, gun at the ready, but it didn't turn on. She felt around the lamp and realized the bulb was missing. When her eyes adjusted and she saw that her one room apartment was empty she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and her pulse slowed a little. Her relief was short lived, however, when she heard the toilet flush.

She raised the gun shakily and her breathing quickened. The bathroom door creaked open, spilling light into the tiny apartment, and she was greeted, at first, to a silhouette. The man was tall and thin, and he seemed to be wearing a suit. Her eyes flicked over to the sofa where she suddenly remembered seeing something out of the ordinary. An expensive-looking suit jacket was draped over the back of it.

The man took a step forward.

"Stop right there! I'll shoot!" The gun wavered in her hand, and she took a step back as he took another step forward. The boys outside had clearly heard her shout, and they rushed in angrily.

"Ann, are you okay?" Damien asked, as he and Mickey flanked her protectively.

"I suggest you call off the children and send them home, miss Dunne. You wouldn't want them to be hurt, would you?" The man stepped closer, and Ann could finally see his face.

"Doctor Crane?" She squinted.

"The same." His superior smirk was familiar to Ann, who had seen him once or twice when she went to visit her brothers, and had even spoken to him once. She had understood what the papers said about him being a wanted man, but he seemed to be doing some good now that Arkham was back under control. Although it was bursting at the seams with people who had never gotten the antidote to the gas that had spread two years ago, he seemed to have things well under control, and was even working toward opening a new location to deal with overflow.

She lowered the gun, and Crane's smile widened. "A wise decision."

"Boys. Go straight home. If I'm not at the clubhouse by noon, go to Miguel and tell him the last person who saw me was Dr. Crane."

The boys looked uncertain, but they went, and Damien took his gun with him. Miguel was the leader of the Crows, a gang that policed her area of the narrows, and he would know what to do if she went missing. She turned back to Crane and looked at him with eyes narrowed.

"What can I do for you? Or do you break into people's homes for the thrill." The tone of her voice gave nothing away, and her eyes were narrow slits.

"You are the first." His glasses made his eyes seem slightly bigger than they were, giving them a hypnotic air. His exaggerated features made his face a captivating sight, but Ann knew better than to stare overlong at his pronounced cheekbones and full lips. She stared straight into his eyes, not backing down.

"What do you want?" She asked again.

He looked out her window. There wasn't much of a view; just a couple of bright neon signs advertising dancing girls and cheap booze. The street was fairly dark, and garbage was strewn across the pavement. She knew he could see the shine of old crumpled cans and bottles in the moonlight, and Old Harry, who slept on the one working vent every night and wandered around the neighbourhood during the day. She didn't know what he was thinking or why he was standing in her small apartment, but she was eager for him to be on his way. After all, she had promised to meet the boys at the clubhouse at noon, and she wanted get at least a few hours of sleep.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if your brothers had been saved in time?" He asked her, and his voice was a startling break in the silence.

She pondered that question for a moment. "No, I can't say I have."

He was quick to respond. "So you don't lie awake at night imagining a real family in a real house? Maybe you live in a neighbourhood where you don't have to befriend murderers and thieves to survive. Maybe you're happy. Maybe you don't have to deal everyday with trying to help kids that are only going to stab you in the back later." He paused. "As illustrated earlier tonight."

Throughout his speech Ann could feel the anger rising. How dare he come here and belittle her life and the lives of the people she loved? He had no right! "How dare you! Of course I wish things were different, but they aren't, so I have to deal with that! What the hell are you doing here anyway? Get out of my house!" She pointed violently at the door, and growled when she saw him smile once more.

"Calm down, miss Dunne. I wouldn't want to have to sedate you." With a flick of his wrist- that Ann couldn't understand since his sleeves were _rolled up_- a syringe appeared in his hand.

She gasped, and picked up the umbrella that rested near the front door, brandishing it like a sword. "Stay away from me!"

"I think you want to put that down and take a few deep breaths." He warned coldly, taking another step closer. The needle glinted in the bathroom light and Ann shivered, panic overtaking her body. Her eyes darted from side to side, wondering what do to. She knew running outside dressed the way she was would be just as dangerous as staying inside, she just had to decide which certain danger she was more willing to face.

"I'll only use this if you make it necessary." Crane said calmly, referring to the needle. "If you'll agree to come quietly, I'll just put this away."

Ann weighed her options. "What exactly do you want?"

"I just want to talk. I have a proposition that I believe might interest you a great deal." His voice became soothing and low. Gone was the cold gaze from only moments before. His bright blue eyes had become muted and calculating. Ann guessed that he was trying to set her at ease by remaining calm and rational, but he was only making her more nervous.

When she though about it, she knew that doctor Crane was a very powerful man. For some reason he had immunity from all the gangs, and even though people suspected he was somehow linked to the gassing incident, there was no concrete evidence. He was still one of the highest regarded doctors in Gotham, though he rarely left the narrows, and he was very well connected. She knew that if she ran he would find her, and that the finding might not be pleasant. With a sigh, she let the umbrella drop from her fingers.

"Okay. I'll come with you."

Crane nodded, capped the syringe, and put it into a little padded pouch in his pants pocket. He turned and flicked off the bathroom light. The streetlights were suddenly the only illumination in the room. "After you." The doctor said, and Ann stepped outside.

"You don't need to do that." Crane said as Ann locked her apartment door. She just ignored him and locked it anyway, brushing past him as she headed quickly down the stairs. He was directly behind her the whole way, and she knew she didn't have a chance in hell of getting away from him.

When they got down to street level Crane directed her to a car that she hadn't noticed on her way in, probably because of the attempted stick-up. He opened the back door and she slid inside; surprisingly, he slid in next to her.

"Don't you. . ." She looked up at the front and realized there was a burly man sitting in the driver's seat. Crane didn't say anything, but the driver started up the car and seemed to know exactly where to go.

After a few minutes of driving it became clear to Ann that they were going deeper into the narrows than she usually felt comfortable going, and she could only assume that they were headed to the asylum. She had only been there a few times, but she remembered it as a big, foreboding building surrounded by a lethal-looking iron fence.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later they pulled up to the front entrance of Arkham. The driver punched in the access code and the gates swung silently open. They stopped at the front door and Dr. Crane got out.

Ann hesitated. She remembered the smell of the asylum most of all. It was like the worst hospital smell she could imagine multiplied by ten. The walls and floors were always shiny white, and the staff always looked a little too. . . sinister.

She reluctantly clambered out of the car and noticed that the sun was beginning to rise. She smiled a little at this, remembering the motto she had had painted in the main hall of the clubhouse: Walk with hope in your heart and you will never walk alone.

The thought of that quote, and the kids who depended on her, was enough to steel her resolve and strengthen her heart. She walked into the huge building with her head held high and her heart full.


	2. 2

The interior of the asylum was just as glaringly sterilized and painfully grim as she remembered it to be. The fluorescent lights made her eyes hurt for a minute until she got used to them. The nurse sitting at the front desk looked patently uninterested by Dr Crane and his oddly dressed companion, but Ann could feel the woman's burning gaze on her back as they went quickly down the hall.

How he could get qualified medical staff to work there she would never know. After the gassing, the papers had been full of articles on what would become of the narrows now that Arkham had been broken. Everyone living in the narrows, herself included, had been in a lot of danger then. Even though the police were picking up the incurable victims right and left, there were still a lot of people running around causing a ruckus and, inevitably, more people were killed.

When Dr Crane suddenly reappeared nearly a week after the antidote was released, the papers had been busy speculating about his absence, but no one failed to notice what he had begun doing with the asylum. He had called in cleanup and construction crews to re-build and fortify the place. He even called publicly upon Gotham's mayor to pledge money toward the rehabilitation of the building, and toward opening a second building to house the overflow.

The city's mayor had been so relieved that someone had taken the situation in hand that he promised to support Dr. Crane in all his endeavours. The papers suddenly made a huge turnabout, and Dr Crane became a hero. After reading so many conflicting articles, Ann wasn't sure what to think of him. Of course, she didn't put much stock in what the papers printed regarding the narrows, anyway. After two years of the Gotham Times telling the rest of the city about the narrows, she had stopped reading. It was ridiculous; the papers either didn't mention the narrows at all, or it sensationalized every story.

Ann saw death and depravity in the streets every night; she didn't need to read an exaggerated tale of it every morning.

When they reached the elevator, the doctor pressed 12 on the keypad. Ann guessed they must be headed to his office. She had only ever been on the first and fourth floors to visit her brothers. The first floor housed the patients who were the least risk to others, and each floor housed people more dangerous than the last. Ann knew she was lucky that her brothers were only on the first and fourth floors. She knew kids whose parents were on higher floor, and parents whose kids were, too. Ann supposed that since Dr crane was head of the asylum, he would be most qualified to treat the worst cases, and therefore his office would be closest in case of an emergency.

Indeed, when they reached the twelfth floor, they proceeded to a warm, yet spartan office.

"Take a seat, miss Dunne." He gestured to a straight-backed wooden chair that sat before his workstation. He sat behind his desk, directly across from Ann, and stared at her for a moment. "What is it they see in you?" He asked her directly.

"What. . . Who sees in me?"

"The people of the narrows." Dr Crane explained. He steepled his fingers and frowned behind his spectacles. "They love you.You don'tsee it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Ann was totally confused. Many of the residents of her neck of the woods were vulgar and dangerous, and she considered herself blessed to be safe when she got home after work every day, but she was no different from the other half of them. Many of them were just poor, and unable to afford to leave the bad neighbourhood.

"You don't notice Miguel's boys trailing you home every night?" Crane scoffed. "You don't notice the way the men at the bar where you work don't treat you like they do the rest of the girls?" He sneered. "You're different, which means you're useful."

"What are you talking about?" She was beginning to get a little nervous again. "Nobody follows me home! And I don't get hit on as much because I'm not a regular dancer, I'm just a waitress!"

Crane began to laugh. It was a horrifying sound, full of malice and madness, and Ann stared at him, unable to comprehend what was going on.

Quickly, his laughter died away, and he returned his attention to her.

"You need me." He said, matter-of-factly. "You're about to get kicked out of the hell-hole you call home. You have no food. You can't work in that bar forever, you know."

"I'm not that old yet!" A quiver of outrage shot through her. "I'm only twenty-four!" A thought struck her. "And what the hell do you think I need you for?"

"I can give you security." He said, quite seriously. "I can guarantee you enough money to live off of for the rest of your life, or fritter away helping underprivileged children. Whichever suits you."

"What's the catch?"

"You have to work for me." He says simply. "You may have noticed my public image was somewhat damaged following certain events. I need someone who is going to turn that around."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" She demanded, both intrigued and frightened by what he was about to say. She had heard the whisperings on the streets. How Dr Crane had gone mad long before the gas hit the city. The he had been the crazed maniac tearing around the streets on horseback during the panic. Staring across the sturdy oaken desk, she could hardly see the controlled young man as a terrorizing monster, but she barely knew him.

She didn't know him at all, in fact.

"The mayor and police commissioner have agreed to put aside past differences and work with me. They've promised funding for another facility to be built. You see; much of Gotham is still overrun with the criminally insane. I'm sure people come into your place of work fairly often who seem a little odd." He waited.

"Yes." She says. "But they try to hide it."

"But sometimes they harass you?" It sounded like a question, but Ann had a feeling it was more a statement than anything else.

"No. I've never had a problem." She said defensively.

He settled back into his chair, looking smug. "So you feel safe at work."

"Well. . . not really."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know." She said, getting irritated. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

He ignored her. "Do your co-workers get harassed?"

"I'm not going to answer any more questions! I already told you! I'm a server, not a dancer! That's why!" She shouted, and got up, preparing to storm out.

"I suggest you sit down." The edge in his voice made Ann think of her brothers, locked up and at Dr Crane's mercy. She returned to her seat, simmering in anger.

"Why do you think your co-workers get harassed?" He asked, almost as though her outburst hadn't even registered.

She gritted her teeth. She had thought herself lucky. Every time one of the girls came in red-eyed, or one of the patrons tried to pull someone off the stage or out of the club, she felt as though she had been blessed with not having to deal with that. But now, she wondered if maybe there was a different reason. She didn't say a word, so he continued on without her, finally giving her a little of what she'd been waiting for.

"You spent your time during the. . . gas explosion helping people. How is it that you weren't affected by the gas?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me what happened that first night."

She stared at him. How could he ask her to relive that horrible night? She just wanted to wipe that memory from her mind completely, as though it had never happened.

"It will make things much easier for you here if you tell me in detail what happened to you." Dr Crane said gently, as though he could sense her pain.

She looked out the window. The sun was still on the rise, and it looked like it would be a beautiful day. The office in which she sat now felt bleak and cold.

"I went to bed early that night." She began quietly. "I was the only one in my family to go to university, so I promised myself I would work hard and do something really great. My classes started at eight the next day so I went to bed at ten." She glanced up at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the floor.

"I woke up at about eleven, my brother was banging on my bedroom door. I couldn't tell what he was screaming. I opened the door and he ran inside. He kept saying 'find Jamie, find Jamie'. I didn't know what was wrong and I couldn't get him to calm down. Then I heard the commotion outside.

"There were sirens; a lot of them. Screaming, Breaking glass, something like car crashes. At first I panicked and though it was something Ryan had done; he was a troublemaker, and he'd been thrown in jail for a night or two more than once. But then I realized there was too much chaos out there for one man to have caused-" At that, Dr Crane coughed. Ann looked up again, and there was an expectant look on his face.

"Go on."

"I told Ryan to stay in my room and said I'd go find Jamie. I padlocked my door. I didn't want Ryan to get out and get hurt, he seemed irrational, like he couldn't control himself or something. I couldn't find my parents so I just left. First I went to Jamie's place. He only lived down the street so I thought I'd be okay. I saw some kids running around so I rounded them up and got them to come with me. There was fire in the streets, and I could barely see sometimes because of the- the fog.

"I got to Jamie's apartment by luck. I held onto the kids by luck. Everything was dumb luck. . . I had the kids hold hands and we formed a line. They followed me up to Jamie's apartment and he wasn't there. I didn't think I could go out into the streets with those kids again so I locked them in. Then I went back outside to look for Jamie.

"Something was wrong with the people. They were everywhere, just running around like they had nowhere to go. People were pulling out guns and knives and all of that; fighting and freaking out. It was almost like one of those disaster movies, but the disaster was in the people and not the land or the sky. I didn't know what was going on, all I knew was I had to find my brother.

"I was trying to figure out where he might go, but I really had no idea. I wanted to find my parents too, but I guess I hoped they would be okay together. Eventually I, you know, decided that it was stupid of me to freak myself out so much and I might as well start helping out those who needed it. So I tried to find as many kids as possible. Some of them were seriously injured and needed medical attention, but I was pretty sure the hospitals would have their hands full. If, you know, they weren't crazy too.

"So I took them back to Jamie's apartment and started to look after them. There were about twenty altogether. I tried to calm them as much as possible, and I used sheets to bandage cuts and scrapes. There wasn't much I could do for the two kids with broken bones. They were freaking me out the most. They were just crying and saying something about a scarecrow. I tried my best to get their legs splinted, but I couldn't do much else.

"I stayed with the kids until very early morning. That was when I heard the sirens coming through the streets with the megaphones and everything and they were talking about the antidote. I got it. The end." Ann didn't look up at the end of her story. She'd tried to leave out everything she had been feeling at the time, as well as what had happened with her family. The anger and the helplessness, she knew, would only serve to fuel whatever fire was burning inside Dr Crane.

There was a short silence, and she looked up. He was sitting there, staring at her, tight-lipped and serious.

"Well?" She asked, expectant. "I told you, now you tell me. Why am I here?" She pressed down all the old feelings of sadness and regret, and stared him down.

"The truth of the matter is-" he began, almost to himself "I need to know why you weren't affected by the fog. And I need a partner. I thought it would be easier if I combined the two."

"Well I can tell you right now that I have no idea why the fog didn't get me, and I don't really dwell on it. And what do you mean by partner?"

"I need someone to support me in public. Someone reasonably intelligent with a good reputation." Crane said simply, not bother to expound on exactly what 'support' meant.

"Support you how?" She ignored the backhanded compliment and went straight to the heart of the matter.

Crane spoke as if her were getting ready to close a business deal. "I need you to be my partner. My girlfriend. My one true love, in the eyes of the adoring public." He spoke cynically and with great contempt, but it wasn't directed at Ann. She recognized his attitude right away. He was used to getting places on his own; never needing anyone to help him out. Now that he needed someone, he felt helpless and low.

"I don't think I can do that." She said. It wasn't just that she didn't want to, although it certainly wasn't one of her greatest dreams, she knew that if she got involved she was bound to get into trouble. Serious trouble. And her kids at the clubhouse definitely wouldn't understand, no matter what kind of monetary promise he had made earlier. "And I don't think I want to be your lab rat either."

Crane scowled. "I don't think you realize what you stand to gain in an offer like this, miss Dunne. I can promise you the funds to keep your little clubhouse from going under. I can guarantee a roof over your head. You never got to finish college; I can help with that too. All I need from you is your commitment to my project."

"I'm sorry. I can't do it." Ann moved to rise from the chair and leave his office. She was no longer angry, just tired beyond belief, her body almost at the breaking point.

"I don't think you realize what you stand to lose." Crane said mildly, as though he sensed her fatigue.

She fell back into her chair and put her hands in her head. Of course. Of course he would do that. Both of her brothers were there; locked up in Arkham. No matter what state they were in, she was responsible for them, and she had to protect them at all costs. She was the reason they were in there anyway.

As though he could read her thoughts, Crane nodded.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ann lost in thought and Dr Crane watching Ann.

What. . . What do I have to do?" She sounded resigned, like she was giving up.

Dr Crane smiled at that. "Well, in a normal business deal I would require you to sign a contract. However, since these are-unconventional circumstances, we'll just keep it on a spoken agreement." He looked at the clock on the wall behind her. "We have a few hours before you have to be back at your 'clubhouse', why don't I go over the basics with you?"

Ann groaned. She hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours and he wanted to talk details? She could feel a headache forming at the fore of her brain. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
